


The Birds Began to Sing

by OzQueen



Category: Baby-Sitters Club - Ann M. Martin, Pushing Daisies
Genre: Baking, Crossover, Friendship, Gen, Male-Female Friendship, Summer, Summer Jobs, Supportive Friendship, Touching, Unrequited Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-06
Updated: 2018-02-06
Packaged: 2019-03-14 12:01:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13589649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OzQueen/pseuds/OzQueen
Summary: Something sweet comes to Stoneybrook.





	The Birds Began to Sing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [baseballchica03](https://archiveofourown.org/users/baseballchica03/gifts).



> Set in the summer of 1992, Stoneybrook. (I had to ignore the Pushing Daisies time/space to make this work and for that I sincerely apologize.)
> 
> -
> 
>  
> 
> _When the pie was opened_  
>  _The birds began to sing_

 

* * *

 

On the corner of Reilly Lane and Essex Road, across from the Stoneybrook cinema (and two doors down from the established coffee hangout Thelma's Café), a square brick building with a striped awning is undergoing renovations.

Claudia stands across the street, waiting for Kristy and Mary Anne in the parking lot behind the cinema. She watches builders come and go, carrying power tools and buckets of paint. The windows are newspapered over so she can't see inside, which only makes her more curious.

Kristy's car pulls into the parking lot. She reverses and straightens up again, just inches from Alan Gray's beat up sedan. It's so close, Mary Anne has to climb across the seats and get out of the driver's side door of Kristy's car.

"This is just sinking to his level," she complains, straightening her skirt.

Kristy just grins and locks her car. "Hey Claud."

"Hey," Claudia answers, not taking her eyes off one particularly burly man in paint-splattered overalls.

"How was work?" Mary Anne asks conversationally.

Claudia wrinkles her nose. "Do I smell like popcorn?"

"No," she answers truthfully.

"What do you think is going on over there?" Claudia asks. She nods towards the mystery building across the street.

"A new café?"

"In competition with Thelma's?" Kristy winces. "Good luck."

"We never even _go_ to Thelma's."

"That's because she's terrifying. Can you imagine going up against her in direct competition?"

"Much like going up against you, I expect," Mary Anne says affectionately.

"Maybe it'll be a bar," Claudia says. "Didn't it used to be a bar?"

"I can't remember." Kristy tugs her ponytail tighter. "It's been closed forever. Come on, if we don't hurry we'll miss a table."

"What time does Alan finish work?" Mary Anne asks worriedly.

"He's unpacking all the posters and cut-outs for Batman Returns. He's in full geek mode and he'll be here for ages," Claudia reassures her. "You guys will probably be gone before he even realizes he's boxed in."

"Damn it," Kristy mutters.

They walk across the parking lot towards Burger Town, leaving behind the smell of brick dust and fresh paint, and the mystery of whatever is lurking behind the papered-over windows.

 

* * *

 

"I hope it's a bar," Alan says.

"Right, because they'd let you in," Claudia snorts. She makes a high-pitched noise at the back of her throat as she scrapes another gooey wad of gum out from under one of the seats in cinema two. "People are so _gross_ ," she says, for what is probably the eighth time that day.

"You know Noah Seger? He makes fake IDs," Alan says. "I could get into a bar if I had an ID."

"Oh please," Claudia says scornfully. She sits back on her heels and looks up at him.

"Maybe not in Stoneybrook," he concedes. "But somewhere where people don't know my face."

"Everybody knows your face."

"It's because I'm so handsome," he says solemnly. "It's hard to forget someone so naturally stunning."

Claudia's not in the mood for jokes. "You want to give me a hand, please? It's Gum City down here for god's sake."

"You'd think not selling it at the candy bar now would make the situation a little better," Alan complains, slumping to his knees. He grips a paint scraper in his hand. "Seriously though," he says, "if it's a bar, I'm gonna try the fake ID thing. Can you imagine how much better this job would be if we could do it drunk?"

Claudia chips away another drying wad of gum. " _Nothing_ will ever make this job better," she says.

 

* * *

 

Claudia is struggling with two bulging black bags of stale popcorn. She drags them out to the dumpster behind the cinema and tosses them in, pausing for a moment to mourn the loss of so much snack food. She dusts her hands off and looks across the street.

The old awning has been torn down, and the newspaper is off the windows.

She glances back at the cinema, but they're just about done… Without feeling too guilty about it, she decides to officially end her shift a few minutes early, and she walks across the street. Now that she's closer she can see lettering printed in a clean arch across the glass:

_The Pie Hole._

She wonders if it _is_ a bar. Maybe the name is some kind of clever word play or reference to watering hole, or something else she doesn't understand — maybe from a book she hasn't read.

The door is propped open, but there's a sheet of paper taped to it with a firm CLOSED written on it in black marker. Everything inside is still covered with paint-stained cloth and sheets of plastic, but it does look like there's a bar across the back. There are booths or tables along each wall, and beautiful stained glass light fittings hanging from the ceiling. Claudia admires them from the sidewalk.

There's movement inside. She almost bolts back across the street, nervous about being caught peering through the windows, but —

"Oh _hello_ ," she says in delight, dropping to her knees to greet the dog as joyfully as he has greeted her. He wags his tail at her so fast his whole body wriggles.

She ruffles behind his ears, and he sinks to the sidewalk and rolls over expectantly.

"Oh, come on," she says, but she laughs and scratches him.

There's a shadow in the doorway, and a voice. "Hi."

She looks up — and up, and up. He's tall. So tall it's a little scary to be so low in front of him, so Claudia scrambles to her feet again. "Uh, hi. I'm Claudia." She points nervously across the street. "I work at the cinema."

"I'm Ned," he says. "I work at The Pie Hole."

"Hi." She swallows. He doesn't look quite as intimidating now she's standing, though he still towers over her. He's young though — only a few years older than her, dark hair and blue eyes and a _very_ fine pair of shoulders under a tight black t-shirt marked with dust. And he has dimples, and she's never met a jerk with dimples, so…

"Is this your dog?"

"Yes. His name is Digby."

"Hey, Digby," Claudia says. She glances back at Ned. "I uh, didn't lure him out here or anything. He just kind ran out the door."

"Yes, he does that."

"Aren't you worried he'll run into the street?"

"Oh, no," Ned says. "He's learned his lesson about that."

Digby lolls his tongue out of his mouth like he's grinning.

Claudia fidgets with the stupid fake pockets on her uniform vest. "So are you opening a bar?" she asks.

"No," Ned says. "I'm selling pies."

"Pies?" Claudia can feel her heart rate go up. "Like, apple, pecan, pumpkin?"

"Like those, yes. I'm working on the menu, actually."

"Well, if you need a second opinion," Claudia says, bouncing on her toes a little. "I consider myself a dessert connoisseur." She grins at him.

Ned looks amused. "How does one become a dessert connoisseur?"

"It starts with hiding Mars Bars under your pillow as soon as you have an allowance to spend," Claudia says.

"That sounds like an ant nightmare."

"Only if you're dumb enough to open something and not finish it," Claudia says. "And I'm not _that_ dumb."

Ned grins back at her. "Actually, a second opinion on the menu might be helpful."

"Now?"

"No, it's late. Tomorrow?"

"I can do it now. I just finished work."

"Don't you want to get home?"

"Not if it means missing out on a conversation about pie," she says truthfully.

His smile is warm, and he spends a moment looking at her, before he says, "Okay then."

She follows him inside, careful to step on the protective sheeting. The floor, which peeks up at her through gaps in the plastic, is beautiful polished wood, stripped, sanded, waxed and buffed to a high shine again.

The plastic crinkles under her Doc Martens, and the crime and mystery lover inside her thinks how easy it would be to lure her in with the promise of dessert, and then murder her with all this sheeting draped everywhere.

 _Shut up, Claudia_ , she thinks furiously to herself.

"Sorry about the mess. And the paint smell."

"Actually, I like paint smell," Claudia says without thinking. "Do you have a business partner?"

"No," Ned says, "but let's take this one step at a time." He smiles at her to show it was a joke, which she had understood immediately, but somehow the smile makes it even better. It reminds her a little of Mary Anne — sincerity and earnestness showing through every remark.

He holds up a sheet of paper. "If you were to come in and sit at the counter and look at this menu, would it entice you into buying pie?"

"The _word_ pie is enough to entice me into buying pie," Claudia tells him seriously. She takes the menu from him and looks at it eagerly. "Ooh, plum!"

"It's enticing enough?"

"It all sounds amazing. The — oh my lord, chocolate coconut cream…" Her mouth waters. "I mean," she says, glancing up at Ned, "it all sounds incredible. I can't even think of a type of pie I'd want on there that you don't already have."

"The woman at the print shop thought photos would be helpful," Ned says.

"My aunt works for an advertising firm and she says people who need photos for everything are idiots," Claudia says flatly.

"I agree," Ned says, sounding somewhat relieved.

"But," Claudia says lightly, "uh, it could use a little… something."

His eyebrows twitch suspiciously. "Something?"

"Can I borrow your pen?" she asks, glancing up at the ballpoint pen tucked behind Ned's ear. "And can I scribble on this?"

"Scribble away."

"Menus without personality are boring," she says. "And you've got stained glass light fittings and an art deco counter and a parquet floor…"

Ned glances down at the floor and then up at her again.

"You can't hand out a menu like this," she says. "Everything else has personality. And the menu is the first thing you're going to hand anyone who comes through the door. Everyone is going to look at it."

"What you're saying makes sense," he agrees.

"So just…" She sketches out a slice of pie topped with a scoop of ice cream. "Inject a little personality…" A heaping pile of peaches, plums and apricots in the corner; a coffee cup with a curly swirl of steam; a key lime piled high with meringue. She inks out inch-sized designs down the margin of the menu.

"How much would you charge to mock up a proper menu like that?" Ned asks curiously.

Claudia gives an embarrassed laugh. "I don't… they're just sketches."

"How much?"

"A slice of pie?" she asks hopefully.

His dimples deepen when he smiles. "Done."

She holds out her hand to shake on it, and he looks down at it and then back at her… and then her hand is in his, and they shake on their deal.

 

* * *

 

" _Shit_ ," Claudia says through clenched teeth, watching helplessly as red paint bleeds rapidly past her careful pencil marks.

It's almost four o'clock in the morning and she's bent over her desk, her neck and shoulders aching from what her mother would describe as 'terrible posture', but she's almost done…

Watercolor is harder for her to work with than acrylic, and she almost regrets her choice. It's messier than she'd like, but she has three other copies in pen and ink, which are neater and probably more fitting to Ned's idea of the outcome. She just wants one more attempt at the image she's got in her head, and watercolor is her best shot at achieving it.

She dabs carefully at what is supposed to be a slice of plum pie à la mode — she's used a little too much water and the paint has seeped a little too high, but she think she can fix it once it's dry.

 _Maybe I should do one in acrylic paint as well,_ Claudia thinks, but another look at the clock dampens her enthusiasm. She'd have had more time if she hadn't spent so much time on the lettering — getting Janine to double check all of her spelling before she'd inked it all. Janine, who had then berated her for taking slices of pie as commission.

"You're trying to convince Mom and Dad that art is a worthy living," she had reminded her, and Claudia had felt embarrassed and stupid and defensive, and they'd ended up arguing.

She looks over the menu worriedly, but she knows Janine isn't petty enough to let her go to Ned with any spelling mistakes. Maybe she can bring back a slice of pie as an apology tomorrow.

 

* * *

 

"I like the watercolor," Ned says.

Claudia beams at him. "That's my favorite too! I didn't push it on you, did I? I wanted to set them all out and let you choose but that one was on top and sometimes I think first impressions can —"

"No," Ned interrupts with a smile. "It's just my favorite, that's all. I'll get the copy place to make up the proper menus using that design."

She can feel herself blushing. "I'm glad you like it."

"I'm afraid I don't have any pie for you yet," he says. "The kitchen is still a mess, and I'm waiting for the table."

"How come you don't have a table yet?"

"The top is made of marble."

"Oh. Not just any table, then."

"No."

Claudia checks her watch and sighs. "I have to go to work soon anyway."

"What movies are showing today?"

"The same ones as yesterday," she says dully. "But if you come by, I'll give you my discount at the candy bar."

"How can I resist?" he asks.

 

* * *

 

"He never came though," Claudia says. "I went back after my shift and he said he was finishing up all the final details with the contractors. He did get the table delivered though!"

"Something tells me you're not going there just for the _pie_ ," Stacey teases.

Claudia grins sheepishly up at the ceiling of her bedroom, her phone tucked against her shoulder. "He's too old for me."

"How old?"

"I don't know. I think he's in his early twenties."

Predictably, Stacey insists that's not too old. "You'll be 18 soon. What does he look like?"

"Mm…" She wrinkles her nose up as she thinks. "Kind of like Robert Brewster? A little bit? But with shorter hair. He's really, really tall —"

"Robert is obnoxiously tall," Stacey says in mock disgust.

"— and he has dimples and dark hair —"

"Ooh."

"— and blue eyes."

" _Ooh._ "

"Yeah," Claudia sighs. She closes her eyes for a moment and conjures Ned's image in her mind.

"And he makes desserts for a living? _Claud._ I mean if you'd wished a perfect man into existence…"

"I feel like I have enough going on right now," Claudia says reluctantly. "I shouldn't be thinking about guys."

Stacey's voice is softer. "What stuff?"

"Just the usual," she sighs. "Why don't I look for a real job, or go to college, or prepare myself for a better future, because art isn't good enough, and let's all stop and admire Janine's regular genius…"

Stacey makes appropriate sympathetic noises. "Want to come over tomorrow? We can read trashy magazines and try that new mud mask I have that's meant to make your skin all dewy and soft. And you can tell me more about your pie man."

"He's not my pie man," Claudia says with a laugh.

"You can tell me about him anyway," Stacey says. "I won't object."

"I do like him a lot," Claudia admits. "We were talking today about how stupid people sound when they use too many words, like he hates it when people use double negatives to get their point across —"

"Uh-huh," Stacey says.

"— and I was like oh my god, you should meet my sister Janine because talk about someone who uses unnecessary words."

Stacey laughs.

"Like this morning she was talking about how it's meant to rain this week but she kept using the word participation?" She reaches under her bed for a block of Hershey's.

"Precipitation?" Stacey asks hesitantly.

"Who cares," Claudia mutters.

"Well it sounds like you get along with Ned," Stacey says. "Maybe it'll make your job more tolerable with him right across the street."

"I'm not sure anything has the power to make that happen," she says doubtfully.

 

* * *

 

"I still wish it was a bar," Alan says. He's got a butter stain from the popcorn machine on the front of his vest, and Claudia thinks it looks like the figure from Munch's _The Scream_.

"I'm glad it's pie," Claudia says. "You don't get carded for pie."

The walkie talkie on Alan's belt spits out a garbled mess of static.

"Sister Act is about to finish," he says. "Better get your butt over there with the Wheeze-o-matic."

The Wheeze-o-matic was the cinema's vacuum cleaner, and Claudia touched it as little as possible.

"I'll do the tickets all afternoon if you take the Wheeze-o-matic," she offers.

"What do you take me for?" Alan says. "Tickets are a walk in the park, Kishi."

"Yeah, but _all afternoon_ ," she says emphatically. "Stuck in that tiny little booth, while you're out here, free to flirt with anyone you want."

"Even the masses need a break from this Adonis occasionally," Alan says.

"Well," Claudia says, increasingly desperate, "Kristy's coming by later and you won't be able to torture her if you're locked in the ticket booth. Better to let me take it, and you can wander freely and —"

"Au contraire, sweetheart," Alan says. "You underestimate my powers. _And_ the shittiness of the ticket machine. With our powers combined, we are a force more powerful than —"

" _Okay_ ," Claudia says grumpily. "Jeez, I can't listen to you anymore. There comes a point where choosing the Wheeze-o-matic is the lesser of two evils."

He grins triumphantly.

Claudia drags the Wheeze-o-matic out of the closet and into the cinema, where the credits for Sister Act have just finished rolling, and the lights are on. She looks at the sea of popcorn on the floor and sighs heavily. "Ned," she says to the empty room, "I really want to claim my free pie today."

 

* * *

 

"The oven isn't working yet," Ned says apologetically. "Someone has to come out and do another inspection of the gas line before they connect it."

Claudia slumps over the polished counter. "That's okay," she says.

"Rough day?"

"I hate my job."

"What's so terrible about movies?"

"Movies are fine," Claudia says, looking at him without lifting her cheek from the counter. "The first time you see them, anyway. After the hundredth time it's less fun. And anyway, my job doesn't involve movies as much as it involves cleaning up spilled popcorn and scraping gum off seats."

Ned makes a face.

"Yeah, exactly," Claudia agrees. "I was hoping to have a slice of pie and turn my day around."

"Come by tomorrow," Ned says. "I'll have pie. I promise. I'll turn your day all the way around."

She smiles at him, and he smiles back.

 

* * *

 

The sky is clear and blue, and the sun is bright and warm. Claudia rides her bike down Essex Road, drawn to the pie shop like a spell has fallen over her. The front windows glitter in the early sunlight and it looks as inviting as it always does.

There's a closed sign on the door, but when she waves at Ned through the window he smiles at her and lets her in.

"It's too early for pie," he says.

"No it isn't," Claudia says. "Not for me."

"Me neither," he admits. "Apple, peach or plum? Or, if you're willing to wait, I can make you something else."

"Plum, please."

"Come on then."

Claudia walks around the gleaming wooden counter and into the kitchen. It's cooler in here, the green and white tiled floor and the marble-topped table loaning a pleasant, clean chill. She sits across from Ned, where he's mixing pastry in a giant bowl with his hands.

She folds her arms against the cool surface of the marble and watches him. "Why'd you choose to open your shop in Stoneybrook?" she asks.

"I like Stoneybrook," Ned says with a shrug. "It reminds me of home, it's just closer to the ground."

"Closer to the ground?"

"I haven't seen a building over three stories yet."

"Oh."

"And none of the streets are straight," Ned adds. "Cour d' Cours has that same flaw, and for some reason I find it endearing."

"Oh, I don't think that's a flaw at all!" Claudia says. "I like that you have to walk around curves and corners to see what's ahead of you." She draws a line through the air with her finger. "I like mysteries and hidden things, and curves and lines, and things that look like something completely different when you take a step back."

"I like things that look exactly as they are," Ned says firmly. "In my experience, things that hide themselves around corners are things I can live without."

"Ghosts?" Claudia asks with a smile, waggling her fingers.

Ned grimaces and tips the pastry out onto the floured surface of the table.

"What about art?" she asks, slightly fearing his answer. "Art is full of hidden surprises and disguises and magic things."

He smiles. "You're an artist," he says.

"I try to be. If I could paint and create for a living, I would."

"Why can't you? I create for a living." He rolls a rolling pin under his palms, flattening the pastry in a smooth, satisfying motion.

Claudia watches as though hypnotized. "Your parents have never told you to stick to more sensible choices?"

"Uh, no," Ned says evasively.

Claudia looks up at him but he doesn't offer a further explanation, and she senses it might not be a good idea to push for one. "Mine do," she says.

"They might be right. In six weeks you might be watching me hang an out of business sign on the door before I board up the windows."

"Not if I have anything to do with it," Claudia says. "I'm not kidding when I tell you every spare dime I have will go into buying your pies."

"You haven't even tasted one."

"It's really hard to make bad pie," Claudia insists.

"It's really not," he insists back. "And I admire your dedication but I need more than one person to keep me in business."

"I have friends, and I'm going to drag them in here _all the time._ "

He grins down at his rolling pin.

"So you chose Stoneybrook because it reminds you of home?" she asks. "Why didn't you just open a pie shop in your hometown?"

He shrugs and tilts his head as he drapes the sheet of pastry carefully over the shining mixture of plums waiting in the nearby pie tin. "I was driving through one day and I saw the Rosebud Café and Polly's Fine Candy, and some place called The Merry Go Round which I thought was more candy —"

"Accessories," Claudia interrupts.

"— but there was no pie shop," he says. "So I thought, well, with all those other sweets and sugar, and no pie shop, maybe this is the kind of town open to all things sweet and sugary, and a pie shop wouldn't exactly be amiss. And if I'm wrong then I can still go back to Cour d' Cours wounded, but not mortally so. Embarrassing failure is always a little easier to handle when it's not at your front doorstep."

Claudia agrees wholeheartedly, though she doesn't say so. "What happens if it's not a failure?" she asks. "What happens if it's a huge success and you're too busy running a flourishing pie shop here in Stoneybrook to — to go back home?" She thinks about saying _Cour d' Cours_ but the syllables are unfamiliar and she does't trust herself to say them right, even if Ned isn't putting any particular foreign spin on them at all.

"I haven't really considered the consequences of success," he admits, sprinkling the top of Claudia's pie with brown sugar. "I'm kind of a glass half empty guy and I brace myself for the worst most of the time."

"I always hate it when people tell me I'm going to succeed," she says suddenly. "Sorry."

"It's okay."

"Sometimes you just want to take comfort in the knowledge you're probably going to bomb out again, right?"

"There's a nice feeling of routine to it."

"Exactly." She props her chin on her hands. "Anyway," she says, "I love pie. And ice cream. Most sweet things. You'll you serve it à la mode, right?"

"Yes."

"I'll definitely be here every day."

He smiles at her, and she smiles back.

 

* * *

 

Claudia pushes her rice around her plate with her fork. She's not hungry, but she dares not tell her parents it's because she ate two giant slices of plum pie with Ned that afternoon.

"You haven't filled up on popcorn, have you?" her mother asks suspiciously, apparently sensing Claudia's guilt.

"No," Claudia says. "Another reason this job sucks — I can't even stand the smell of it anymore."

"Don't say 'sucks' at the dinner table, please," her mother says disapprovingly.

"There's a simple path to a better job, you know," her father says.

"Here we go," Claudia mutters under her breath.

"It's not too late to enroll in some classes," Dad continues, looking at her earnestly.

"I _am_  taking classes," Claudia reminds him. "Art, Tuesday and Thursday nights."

"You know we mean classes at the _university_ ," her mother says forcefully. "You are not gaining an education from those weeknight meetings with your friends, Claudia. It's a hobby, and I'm pleased you're —"

"I'm not hungry," Claudia declares, pushing her plate away and scraping her chair back. "I'm going to bed. It's Janine's turn to load the dishwasher." She stomps upstairs without looking back, but she can hear her mother say wearily, _I just don't know what we're going to do with her._

"Hey, favorite daughter!" Claudia shouts at Janine's closed bedroom door. "Your turn to load the dishwasher!" She slams her own bedroom door and flops onto her bed.

 

* * *

 

Someone knocks on Claudia's door an hour or so later. She hasn't moved; she's still lying on her bed with her boots on, staring up at the ceiling. She regrets her tantrum and she doesn't want to hear about how she should know better by now. She wonders if she pretends to be asleep she'll be left alone.

"It's me," Janine says in a soft voice.

Claudia sighs. "Come in."

Janine gingerly shifts a pile of clean laundry out of the directors chair and sits at Claudia's desk. "I brought you dessert," she says, holding out a peace offering in the form of a 3 Musketeers.

Claudia takes it. "Thanks. Sorry I yelled at you."

Janine gives her a small smile. "How was work today?"

"It sucked," Claudia says bluntly, putting a little emphasis on the word _sucked_ like her mother might somehow sense it, even if she can't hear it. "Every day I think about quitting. And then I imagine coming home to tell Mom and Dad that not only am I not going to college, but now I'm not working, either."

"Maybe you should start looking for something else," Janine suggests. "You always liked baby-sitting."

"Dad says I should at least have a job that I can put on paper, with a business name and an address, and references," Claudia says dully. "He's probably right."

"You'll find something else," Janine assures her, and Claudia knows she's trying to be comforting because she's not talking about how much she loves college. "You're very social, and everyone likes you. I'm sure if you mention to people that you're searching for a new job, someone will eventually offer you something more suitable."

"Thanks," she says, giving Janine a small smile.

"You're welcome." Janine smooths the pleats in her skirt and tries to sound nonchalant. "Has The Pie Hole opened yet?"

"Not yet," Claudia says. "But I went to by before my shift started today, and Ned made me a plum pie."

Janine glances at the door and keeps her voice to a whisper. "Between you and me I'm not sure when I last looked forward to something so much," she says. "I can't stop thinking about that menu you showed me."

Claudia sits up and rips open the 3 Musketeers, breaking it in half so she can share it with Janine. "It's the best pie I've ever tasted," she says. "It's an absolute tragedy that pie can't be hidden in a bedroom as well as candy."

"I agree wholeheartedly," Janine sighs.

 

* * *

 

Claudia sits at the counter and breathes in the rich sent of warm fruit and baking pastry. "Have you got an opening day yet? What time will you open?"

"I'm going to open on Monday," Ned says. "And noon. It's better to open late and close late. Most people don't agree that pie is just as excellent for breakfast as it is for dessert."

"Most people are idiots," Claudia tells him.

He grins as he cuts out an enormous slice of peach pie. "Ice cream?"

"Yes please."

"Vanilla?"

"Yes."

He serves her a giant wedge of pie topped with a soft scoop of vanilla ice cream, and stands opposite her at the counter with his arms folded. There's a red stain on the front of his apron where he's leaned against a spilled spoonful of something, and there's a line of flour in his hair. Claudia looks away before she can think about smoothing it out with her fingers. (Too late.)

"This is incredible," she says, licking her spoon. "I've never had pie this good."

"Thank you," he says, looking pleased and a little embarrassed.

"Secret recipe?"

"Something like that."

"My friend Mary Anne loves to bake," Claudia says. "And everything she bakes is delicious — she makes me a birthday cake every year — but I don't think I've ever had anything this good."

"Do you want a job?" Ned asks suddenly.

Claudia stares at him. "Me?"

"You."

"But I didn't even ask for one."

"I know, but I thought given your hatred of the cinema and its inherent gum problem, you might consider… jumping ship." He gives her a hopeful smile.

"Like, waitressing?" she asks, still feeling stunned.

"Waitressing and maybe helping me make pies, because you working here would mean you'd be allowed free pie, and I think it's only fair you help me replace what you eat."

She feels breathless, but not in an unpleasant way at all. "Full time?" she asks. "I have art classes Tuesday and Thursday nights."

"Full time, and we'll maybe get someone else to help as well, even if they're only part time."

"Okay. Yes." She stares at him. "You're sure?"

"I'm sure." Ned smiles at her. He's a little flushed in the face, and she wonders exactly how nervous he'd been about asking her.

"You'll show me how to make the pies?"

"Yes," he says.

"I'd like that. I hope you're not underestimating how much pie I'll eat. And also that you realize you'll be taking away your main source of income if you let me eat it for free."

He opens his mouth and closes it again, and just smiles at her instead.

She smiles back, but her good mood is short-lived as she realizes the reality of waitressing duties. "I can't do math," she blurts. "It's one of the reasons they only put me on the candy bar and the ticket booth as a last resort. Am I gonna have to add totals? Two pies and three coffees and one banana split? How much is that?"

"I don't serve banana splits," Ned says.

"Will you ever?"

"No, this is a pie shop and I'm a purist. And, if it helps, we'll make everything round numbers, nice and even."

"I guess that'll help," she says.

"Five dollars a slice."

"An absolute bargain," she says, looking down at Ned's gloriously generousversion of 'a slice' on her plate. "Will you charge extra for à la mode?"

"No," Ned says firmly. "People who recognize the perfection of ice cream with pie should never be charged extra."

Claudia beams up at him. "I like you more and more."

"You know, à la mode doesn't actually mean with ice cream," he adds. "It means fashionable."

"It does?" Claudia asks in surprise. "Why does everyone say it like it means ice cream?"

"Well," Ned says reasonably, "ice cream never really goes out of fashion."

Claudia grins at him. "That's _so_ true."

He smiles back at her, and she feels her heart lift.

"I always feel better when I come here," she tells him.

"Pies can do that," he says, expertly dodging her praise for the second time in the space of a minute.

She lets him get away with it. For now.

 

* * *

 

Claudia drops the bolts of fabric down on Mary Anne's neatly-made bed. "Anyway," she says, still breathless from the stairs, "he said he didn't really care what it looked like, but it needed to be something customers could recognize as a uniform of some kind, so they don't start asking random strangers for slices of pie and coffee refills."

"Okay," Mary Anne says, looking at Claudia's choices of fabric a little nervously.

"I have no idea how to draw sewing patterns," Claudia says apologetically, "but I drew some designs and I'm hoping you'll be able to figure something out. Just — I mean, anything has to be better than what I had to wear at the cinema." She shudders at the memory of the maroon vest.

"Let me see," Mary Anne says. She pushes her glasses up her nose and settles at her desk, looking over Claudia's bright fashion sketches. "You haven't got pockets on these," she says. "I think generally waitresses will want pockets for pads and pencils and things. Will you wear an apron with a pocket? Do you want me to sew you aprons?"

"Ugh, no," Claudia says. "Can you sew pockets in?"

"Mm-hm," Mary Anne agrees, making neat notes in blue pen. "And the zipper at the front?"

"Zippers on the backs of dresses are a ridiculous idea," Claudia says. "Who wants to contort themselves that much when they're getting dressed?"

Mary Anne makes more notes.

"They don't look too much like those crappy smock shirts we had to wear in middle school art class, do they?" Claudia asks worriedly.

Mary Anne laughs. "No. They definitely won't look anything like that when they're finished."

"I'll pay you for the time it takes."

"Don't worry about it, Claud," Mary Anne says, shaking her head.

"No, really."

"I mean it, it's fine."

"A free slice of pie then," Claudia offers.

Mary Anne laughs. "Deal. But I'd better get your measurements again."

"You'd better make them loose-fitting," Claudia says, lifting her arms so Mary Anne can get the tape around her bust. "At the rate I'm eating these pies, I'll be the size of a house in no time."

 

* * *

 

Claudia watches the wipers beat back and forth against the rain. "Do you want to come in and meet Ned?" she asks.

"Perhaps later," Janine says. "I promised Mom I'd go and help her out a little this afternoon. What time do you start serving customers?"

"Noon."

"I suppose there's no great demand for fruit pies prior to lunch."

"Well, I think there's a market for it," Claudia answers wistfully. "But I guess it's good business sense to stay open later and catch the crowd coming out of the movies." She shakes her head and grabs at the door handle. "Thanks for the ride," she says. "I'll see you later."

The morning is made darker by the heavy cloud and relentless rain. The red neon sign above The Pie Hole shines on the wet sidewalk. Claudia runs for the brightly-lit front door. It's open, and Ned is leaning against it with his arms folded, watching the rain roar along the street into the stormwater drain.

He looks stupidly, unfairly handsome with his shoulders hunched and his arms crossed over his chest.

"Morning," Claudia says, trying not to sound like running ten paces has winded her completely.

"Do you think the weather is going to be an omen of some kind?" Ned asks.

"You've already prepared yourself for failure," Claudia reminds him. "I don't know why you're so worried. This is just day one. You should give it at least two weeks before you start mourning your dumb decisions."

"You're right," he agrees. "I like your earrings."

"Thanks," Claudia says, feeling herself blush. She touches her fingers to the brightly-painted cherries hanging from her ears. "I made them myself."

"Very appropriate," Ned says.

"I thought so."

"I like the uniform, too."

She grins and looks down at the lime-green pinstriped number Mary Anne has sewn for her. "Thanks. I've got orange ones as well. I delivered some to Mallory last night and all she did was complain about how much it'll clash with her hair."

He grins at her. "She's inside. She's wearing green too."

"I guarantee you she'll never wear the orange one."

"Would you like to come in and make pies?"

"Yes please."

He leads her inside. Claudia's shoes squeak wetly on the polished floor. Mallory is sitting at the register behind the counter, scratching Digby's ears. "Hey Claud!" she says. "It smells _so_ good in here."

Ned skirts around her with a smile. "Any requests?" he asks her.

"Lemon cream cheese," Mallory says immediately. She grins at Claud. "I've already memorized the menu."

"Catch up," Claudia says. "The menu is in my _dreams_ at this point."

Digby follows her into the kitchen and settles under the wide, square table to sleep.

There are bowls of fruit piled high, all gleaming under the bright kitchen lights. Claudia's empty stomach gnaws at itself as she takes in the sight of polished green apples and plump red plums.

Ned pulls on a pair of gloves, and Claudia follows suit.

"Want to know the most important ingredient in any pie?" Ned asks.

"If you try and tell me it's love, I'm going to leave."

He looks sideways at her, and pauses for a second. "Fruit," he says instead.

She laughs.

 

* * *

 

Despite the rain, The Pie Hole is an immediate success. Ned is trapped in the kitchen all day making pies, which he looks ridiculously happy about, and Claudia and Mallory are kept on their feet, running plates of pie back and forth, balancing cups of coffee, and loading and unloading the giant dishwashers.

Claudia gets a steam burn off the espresso machine, drops three mugs, and dribbles the leftovers of cherry pie à la mode down the front of her uniform, but when they close the door behind the last customer and sit in the silence of The Pie Hole together, she's exhausted and satisfied in a way she's never really known before.

"We actually had to turn people away at one point," Mallory whispers in an awed voice.

"It's just first day curiosity," Ned warns. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves."

"I'm getting ahead of myself because Claudia's not here tomorrow night and you're only going to have one waitress who might just burst into tears from the insane pressure of having to serve people in a reasonable time," Mallory says, looking pale.

"Oh," Ned says. He looks pale too.

"We'll find someone else," Claudia says. "I'm sure everyone at the cinema is just aching for a chance to jump ship."

"Not Alan," Mallory pleads. "I can only deal with him in small doses."

"Okay," Claudia agrees, feeling a pang of guilt as she realizes Alan is doomed to continue dealing with the Wheeze-o-matic and the gum scraping.

"I would have thought you were happy to leave everyone at the cinema behind anyway," Mallory says.

"Well, except Alan," Claudia says. "But you're right, he's better off over there, being annoying at a distance. Who else can we get?"

"Kristy?" Mallory asked.

"She's going to Shadow Lake with the Thomas-Brewers soon, so I don't think we should rely on her. And Mary Anne and Stacey are spending half of their time apartment hunting together in New York…" The words stick in her throat a little, and she remembers again that once summer is over, she'll be alone in Stoneybrook, continuing to disappoint her parents with her choices.

"I could ask Jessi," Mallory says, "but her ballet classes are Tuesdays and Fridays, which doesn't really solve tomorrow's problem."

Claudia folds her arms. "Okay, look, I'll skip tomorrow's class until we figure something out. But if Jessi can help out on Thursday, that's a start, right?"

"You're absolutely not skipping class," Ned says firmly.

"It's not that kind of class," Claudia admits. "I mean, we call it class, but really it's just a bunch of us getting together and swapping techniques, and talking and eating junk food. My parents remind me daily that I get nothing out of it except cavities and a social life." She rolls her eyes. "They'll be delighted if I tell them I'm dropping down to one night a week because I'm working instead."

"You shouldn't give up the things you love," Ned says.

"I love pie too," she says. "Anyway it's fine, you're going to fail and go out of business anyway, remember? I'll have to miss like, two classes, max."

He smiles at her like he's a little proud of her for reminding him of his low expectations.

They fumble through their first night closing routine — cleaning the kitchen and the giant coffee machine, throwing waste into the dumpster out the back, mopping the floors. Ned counts the money in the register and locks it in the safe.

"We should probably organize to go to the bank each afternoon," Mallory says. "Keeping a whole day's takings here overnight is asking for trouble, even if you do live upstairs." She eyes Digby. "With the world's worst guard dog."

"He's a good guard dog," Ned insists. "But I'll enquire about getting one of those secure vans to come and collect the cash each day."

"I made so much more money than I ever did at the cinema," Claudia says happily. "I'm going to pay Mary Anne for making our uniforms whether she likes it or not."

" _I_ should pay her for that," Ned insists. "And we'll have to ask if she can make another one, if we think we need another waitress."

"We do need another waitress," Mallory says. "I'll ask Jessi, but I don't think she'll want to stay so late. She practices ballet at 5:30 every morning," she explains to Ned.

"If she can cover the post-dinner rush and the wave we get after the six o'clock movie sessions, we'll be okay," Claudia says. "She can be out of here by nine, ten at the latest."

"I'll ask her," Mallory says, but she sounds doubtful all of a sudden. "If she says yes, she can wear my orange uniform tomorrow." She glares at Claudia. "And I'll ask Mary Anne to make me another green one, because I am _never_ going to wear orange."

Claudia rolls her eyes. "See you tomorrow," she says to Ned. He follows them to the door so he can lock up.

"Wait!" Mallory bursts, coming to a sudden halt.

Ned almost trips in his efforts to avoid crashing into her.

"What?" Claudia asks in alarm.

"Like — I mean, good job today, you guys!" Mallory says with wide eyes. She beams at them both. "What a successful first day! We all deserve a pat on the back!" She pats Claudia between the shoulder blades with a grin.

Ned holds his hands up and backs away. "I'll leave the self-congratulating to the two of you," he says.

"Don't make me come over there," Claudia threatens.

"I'm just not really a 'touching' sort of guy."

"Fine," Claudia relents. She drapes her arm around Mallory's shoulders and pulls her out the door. "See you tomorrow, pie man. Terrible job on not failing, by the way, you're never gonna bomb out at this rate."

He's still grinning when he locks them out and closes the blinds over the door.

 

* * *

 

"Okay," Ned says, taking the chalk out of Claudia's hand, "you're banned from the chalkboard until you can at least learn how to copy the menu."

"Sorry," Claudia says, cringing as Ned rubs _peckan pie_ off the board. "Spelling is not my strong suit."

"That's okay," Ned says. "You're good at everything else I ask you to do."

Claudia can feel her face going red. "You think so?"

"Thelma wanted to know who designed my menus."

"Thelma's been in here?" Claudia asked.

"I gave her a free pie in the interest of neighborly love."

"You bribed her?"

"Don't cheapen the sentiment. It was a nice gesture."

"You bribed her," Claudia repeated.

"She wants you to do her menus too and I said I'd send you over."

Claudia pretends to think about it for a moment, but she can't keep the grin off her face. "Okay," she says. "Thanks for recommending me."

"She noticed you herself; I just had to nudge her in the right direction. Make sure you don't accept free food as payment this time."

"How much should I charge?" Claudia asks anxiously.

"Uh, I'm not sure," Ned admits. "I've never had to ask anyone to do graphic design for me before."

"It's not _graphic design_ ," Claudia says, embarrassed. "It's just me doodling down the side of your menu."

"Don't undersell yourself," Ned says in a firm voice. He hands her the chalk again. "Will you draw a slice of pie under this, please?" He grins at her and walks back into he kitchen.

Claudia's face is still red and her heart is fluttering. "It'll cost you!" she calls after him.

 

* * *

 

"We should get roller skates," Jessi says, tugging the hem of her uniform down again.

"Right, because I'm not already clumsy enough," Mallory says, just as Claudia gasps in horror at the idea of plastic wheels grinding their way over the pretty polished floor of The Pie Hole.

"So were people disappointed when you said you were missing another class?" Jessi asks Claudia.

"I guess," Claudia says. "It's okay though, I said I'll be back next week. And it's not like I'm not working on projects I can't share with them later — I took Thelma her new menus today."

"You should see if the Rosebud wants a makeover," Jessi suggests. "You should do up your own business cards!"

"Ooh!" Mallory says. "You totally should."

" _Anyway_ ," Claudia says forcefully, trying to change the subject, "most people from class have been in to try the pie, so I've seen everybody anyway." She pours out another cup of coffee and hands a tray off to Jessi to take out to a table of lingering customers. They're all making satisfied noises and scraping the last mouthfuls of pie off their plates.

"Mom and Dad are disappointed my exciting new job is just waitressing, but Dad at least admitted he's pleased I'm dedicating so much time to it and I seem so much happier."

"You do seem happier," Mallory agrees. "And you don't just waitress, you _make_ the pies as well."

Claudia smiles to herself. "It's satisfying, making pies all day. And pies smell so much nicer than stale popcorn does. I don't miss working over there at _all._ " She glances across the road to the cinema, where she can see Alan struggling to snap a movie poster for _A League of Their Own_ into one of the plastic screens screwed to the bricks.

Jessi returns with an empty tray. "Something tells me that's not the only reason you like coming to work so much," she whispers with a grin, glancing back into the kitchen where Ned is putting away stacks of clean plates and handfuls of gleaming cutlery.

"Shut up," Claudia says, but her face is burning.

Jessi and Mallory giggle conspiratorially, and Claudia wonders exactly how much of their time has been dedicated to discussing her inappropriate crush on Ned.

"Are you going to make a move?" Jessi asks.

"Shut _up_ ," Claudia hisses again, mortified. She glances into the kitchen where Ned is cleaning down the countertops, his black t-shirt hugging his shoulders and his back in an extremely unfair way. "Of course not. It'd be too weird."

 _And too distracting,_ she thinks to herself, imagining Ned's wide hands lifting her onto the marble table as he kisses her, her fingers sliding into his hair…

"Earth to Claud," Mallory stage-whispers.

She's sure her face is bright red. "Jessi, isn't it time you went home?"

Jessi laughs. "Yeah. Do you need me to come in tomorrow?"

"I guess so," Claudia says, not sure if she should make the decision, or if she should ask Ned. "I mean, we've asked you to come in and fill in for me, but I haven't gone anywhere, and we've still been really busy with three of us here, so…"

"I'll come in at four o'clock again," Jessi says. "Four to nine is working just fine for me at the moment." She does a showy little pirouette on the way to grab her purse out from behind the counter. "Bye, Ned!" she calls.

"Thanks for your help," he says, drying his hands on a dishtowel. "See you tomorrow?"

"Yup," Jessi confirms. "Bye Mal. Bye, Claud."

They watch her go, the bell over the door ringing as she leaves.

"Is it a little slower tonight?" Ned asks, looking out over the mostly-empty tables. "I told you the excitement would burn out."

"It's been just as busy as ever," Claudia says. "But there have been three of us here to deal with it. Four, if we include you."

"I've been hiding in the kitchen," he admits.

"I know." She grins at him. "Relax. We've still got an hour before closing, and I guarantee you there'll be a bunch of people walk over from the movies before then, talking about whatever stupid movie they've just seen as they shove pie into their mouths."

"She's really determined to stop you from failing," Mallory says to him.

"It looks that way," Ned agrees, and he smiles at Claudia. "Thank you."

 

* * *

 

Claudia flips the calendar in the kitchen over to the new month. It's marked with things like fruit deliveries and Jessi's ever-changing shift times. She scribbles _Claudia's 18th birthday_ in the square for the 11th.

"Are you going to make a special pie for the Fourth of July?" she asks.

"I don't think so," Ned says.

"Really? No fancy latticework with the pastry? No clever mixes of blueberries and raspberries to represent the stars and stripes?"

Ned wrinkles his nose. "You're not selling me on it, no."

"We should at least serve them with some kind of… razzle-dazzle," Claudia says. "Ice cream with red, white and blue sprinkles?"

Ned looks like she's just slapped him. "Razzle-dazzle?"

"Pizzaz?" she suggests.

"Pies don't need razzle-dazzle," Ned says, rolling out his pastry rather intensely. "If I served you pie à la razzle-dazzle, would it be as comforting?"

"I guess not," Claudia admits.

"Isn't comfort what you want most from a pie?"

" _Okayyyy_ ," she says, begrudgingly. "Fine, no razzle-dazzle on the pies."

He gives her a surprisingly smug smile and flips the pastry over with expert hands.

Claudia props her chin on her hand. "Why do you hate change so much?"

"Pies don't need change, Claudia. Pies are fine exactly the way they are."

"That sounds like a line I feed my parents," she says. "Just substitute the word 'pies' with my own name."

He smiles at her, his expression suddenly nothing but sincerity and affection. "Claudia doesn't need change, either. Claudia is fine exactly the way she is."

"I never believe it, even when I say it," she says, but she's sure she's blushing from head to toe.

 

* * *

 

Kristy and Mary Anne come by, Kristy talking a mile-a-minute about the movie they've just seen, Mary Anne looking pale and tear-streaked.

"Are you okay?" Claudia asks her.

"Fine," Mary Anne says with a smile.

"We just saw _A League of Their Own_ ," Kristy explains.

"I thought that was about baseball," Claudia says.

"It is," Kristy says, rolling her eyes, but she nudges Mary Anne affectionately. "I said I'd buy her a slice of pie to cheer her up. Key lime for me."

"Chocolate cream, please," Mary Anne says, clearly in the mood for indulgence.

"It'll cheer you right up," Claudia promises. "Kristy, why aren't you at Shadow Lake?"

"We're leaving tomorrow," Kristy says. "I'm all packed." She leans around Claudia as she spies Ned in the kitchen. "Hey, Ned!"

He comes out to say hi, drying his hands on a checkered dishtowel. "Are you all right?" he asks Mary Anne.

"Fine, thank you," Mary Anne assures him, turning red.

"Hey, I have an idea for you," Kristy says seriously, as Claudia sets down an enormous wedge of key lime pie with a scoop of strawberry ice cream.

Ned looks at her warily. "What?"

"Deliver," Kristy says. "Nobody ever delivers dessert, and pies are the sort of thing you could box up and deliver no problem."

Ned looks thoughtful. "Maybe."

"I'd totally get dessert delivered if I could," Claudia assures him.

"I know _you_ would," he says, raising his dark eyebrows at her. "But not everybody loves dessert as much as you do."

"They might, if they got it delivered," she says. "Kristy's ideas rarely fail. You should at least try it."

Kristy grins at Ned. "She's right. _I'm_ right."

"I'll think about it," he assures her.

Claudia follows him into the kitchen. "We could do little address tags and order slips made up on special Pie Hole stationery," she says. "I'll mock up some designs tonight."

"Okay," he says thoughtfully. He reaches for a bowl of peaches, still looking distracted. "It might work," he concedes. "If I can just work out the logistics of having to hire a driver, versus demand —" He breaks off and whips his hand back from the bowl of peaches like it's burned him.

"What?" Claudia asks in alarm. "Oh, gross. Oh god, they're not all like that, are they?" She wrinkles her nose at the oozing mess of rotten peach Ned has apparently just sunk his thumb into.

"No," he says hastily, "the rest of them are fine."

"How did I not notice that before?" she asks. Suddenly she's horrified at her lack of attention to detail. _This is what happens when you walk around with your head in the clouds, imagining yourself making out with Ned instead of concentrating on what you're doing._

"Don't worry about it," Ned says, snapping a pair of gloves on. "I'll check the rest."

"Sorry," she says, chewing her lip.

He hesitates for a minute before his gloved hand pats her shoulder reassuringly. "It's not your fault. If you want to cheer yourself up, consider it an order to go and taste test a slice of the peach pie."

She smiles at him and gives him a salute. "Yes, boss."

The touch on her shoulder lingers, and whenever she lets herself think about it, it sends a pleasant shiver down her spine.

 

* * *

 

Claudia knocks gently on Janine's door. "Are you still awake?" she whispers.

"Yes, come in." Janine is sitting up in bed with three text books open.

"How are you reading three books at once?" Claudia asks, shutting the door behind her.

"I'm cross-referencing things," Janine answers. She snaps one of the books closed as she notices the giant wooden box in Claudia's hands. "Is that pie?"

"Banana cream," Claudia says, sitting on Janine's bed and sliding the lid off. "These are the boxes we're going to use for delivery, starting tomorrow."

"I've told my study group that you're going to start delivering, and we've already agreed to arrange regular drop-offs at the lab," Janine whispers, taking the fork Claudia hands her.

Claudia grins. "You rebel."

"Have Mom and Dad been in to meet Ned yet?"

"Mm-hm, twice," Claudia says through a thick mouthful of pie. "They like him. Dad says he seems sincere."

"He does appear very sincere," Janine agrees. "He also quite clearly thinks a lot of you."

Claudia swallows so hastily she almost chokes. "What do you mean?"

"It's reasonable, when I speak with him, to resort to you as our main topic of conversation," Janine says, "as you are what the both of us have in common. I have noticed he's always full of praise for you."

"He is? What does he say?"

Janine takes a dainty bite of pie. "That he would have failed by now if it hadn't been for your dedication, and that he's appreciative of your support and positivity."

"Oh, he talks about failing all the time," Claudia says dismissively. "He's kind of… what's the opposite of optimistic?"

"Pessimistic," Janine says, just as Claudia remembers the word for herself.

"Yeah," she says. "That. So don't take what he says too seriously."

Janine gives her a small smile. "The two of you appear to have much in common," she says. "I don't think you've quite realized just how hard you're working these days. When was the last time you took a day off?"

"I haven't taken a day off yet," Claudia says.

Janine swallows her pie. "Not even for art class?"

"You know, everybody was quick to point out it wasn't a real art class before I stopped going," Claudia says, annoyed.

"I just meant," Janine clarifies gently, "that you shouldn't forgo the chance to spend time on your hobbies or time with your friends. Work is not everything."

Claudia almost chokes again. "Who are you, and what have you done with the real Janine?"

Janine takes another bite.

"Oh, I get It," Claudia says with a grin. "You're afraid I'm going to take your place as Mom and Dad's favorite."

"No," Janine says, "and you know how I feel about your self-deprecation, Claudia, so please don't continue with it. I simply don't wish for you to spend the summer after high school working all the time. Many of your friends will be off to college soon, and you won't have so many chances to see them. When was the last time you saw Stacey?"

Claudia shrugs. Her good mood is in shreds all of a sudden. "I'm tired," she says. "I'm going to bed. Enjoy the rest of the pie."

"What did I say?" Janine asks in dismay.

"Goodnight."

Claudia shuts the door firmly behind her. She sinks onto the edge of her bed and looks around at her half-finished art projects. Her feet are aching from running around all day, and the ends of her fingers are stained red from the triple berry pie mixture she'd made that afternoon.

She looks up at Mimi's portrait above her bed, the one place all her confessions and triumphs and fears get directed. "I've been really, really happy lately," she says, tears welling up in her eyes. "I got a new job and I'm working really hard and I'm making new friends and I'm being creative… so how come I'm still being told I'm doing everything wrong?"

 

* * *

 

Claudia shows up so early to work the next day, the fruit delivery truck is just leaving. She hasn't slept a wink — she'd ended up sketching at four o'clock in the morning, but nothing had turned out the way she'd wanted it to, and she'd crumpled every page into a ball and left it discarded on the floor. Her mind had been too full of the fact she can never do anything right.

The front door is still locked, so Claudia walks around back to try the kitchen door. It's propped open and Digby is snoozing in the sun.

"Hey, buddy," Claudia greets him, patting his soft head as she steps over him. "Ned?"

There's a clang from inside the cool room, and Ned appears, looking alarmed. "Hi. What time is it? You're early."

"I know, but I haven't slept and I wanted to get out of the house," Claudia says. "What's wrong?"

He slams the door behind him and locks it. "Nothing. Why haven't you slept? Are you sick?"

Claudia slumps at the table, which is loaded with bowls of gleaming, fresh fruit. "No. Just… stuff."

Ned sits beside her. Claudia looks at his hands out of the corner of her eye; the way he laces his fingers together and how he sits so neatly with his elbows tucked in. She likes the way he's so careful and precise about where he puts himself.

"What stuff?" he asks.

"Family stuff," she says, a little embarrassed about telling him. "I'm never good enough." She glances at him and notices the tense line across his shoulders. "It's okay," she says. "It's just the usual. I'll get over it." 

"You are good enough," he reassures her. "I don't trust anyone with anything as much as I trust you." 

"That's because you don't know anyone else in Stoneybrook like you know me," she says. "You should stop hiding in the kitchen so much, and then you might get to know more people."

"I feel better out of the way," he says. "And I prefer my social circle small. It's easier that way." 

Claudia rubs her hand over her face. "I have a headache," she says, half-hoping he'll reach out and comfort her somehow.

He looks sympathetic. "I can take you home," he offers. "You shouldn't work if you're sick, Claud."

"Work is the only thing I enjoy at the moment," she says. "I never thought I'd say that."

"I like that you said it." Ned smiles at her. "But I want you to look after yourself. I've been meaning to tell you how much it means to me that you're here every day, working so hard. I couldn't do this without you. I hope you know how much it means to me."

" _You_ mean a lot to me," Claudia says nervously, feeling light-headed with lack of sleep. "Right from the start you just… took a chance on me and let me give you my opinion on things that are really important —"

"The menu isn't that important."

"Oh, not at all," she says, and she rolls her eyes and nudges him.

He doesn't flinch away — just grins at her.

"I should be making you fail," she says. "You said if you succeeded, you'd take The Pie Hole to Cour d' Cours."

"Hey, you didn't call it Curd de Courgette," Ned says, impressed.

"I've been practicing."

"It shows."

"I don't want you to leave," she blurts. "Are you going to leave?"

"I've been open a month," he says patiently. "I'm not planning on going anywhere right now."

"But one day?" she asks.

"One day," Ned says. "But I know The Pie Hole will be in good hands when I leave."

Her stomach lurches. "My hands?"

"They're good hands," Ned murmurs. "You just have to trust them a little more. You practically run this place anyway. I don't want to force anything on you, but if I do leave one day, I'd like to know The Pie Hole was being looked after by someone who loves it as much as I do."

"I'm too tired for this," she says, grabbing an apple from the bowl in the middle of the table. "You're not going to leave today, are you?"

"I don't have a date planned," Ned assures her. "I'll be here awhile yet."

"Okay," Claudia says in relief, swinging herself off the stool and heading for the door. "Plenty of time to drive this place into the ground and make you stay here, then."

"Plenty of time."

She grins and tosses the apple back at him. "I'll be back later…" She trails off.

First, she notices the look of horror on Ned's face. He'd reached up and caught the apple easily, more reflex than anything else. Claudia thinks for a minute that maybe it went astray and she hit him in the face or something, but his arm is aloft, and his hand is holding… an oozing, brown mess of mashed fruit.

Ned puts it carefully on the table. Claudia wordlessly hands him a dishtowel so he can wipe his hands.

"I can explain that," he says. He doesn't look at her. He looks at the apple, and then down at his hands, and down at the floor, and at the door to the cool room, and at Digby.

Claudia thinks about the rotten peach Ned had accidentally put his thumb through days earlier, and the fact he never wants to touch anyone, and the fact she just saw a perfect apple wilt itself down to a wet pulp in his palm.

She thinks about how she's had no sleep, and probably that's the easiest way to make it go away… but that's an ending that Claudia Kishi, lover of mysteries and the unexplained, will not be satisfied with.

"How'd you do that?" she asks.

"I don't know." He looks at her with honesty written all over him. "It just happens. It always has."

"Is that why you wear gloves? And why you don't like hugs?"

"I like hugs," Ned says defensively. "It's just safer to keep my hands to myself."

"Will I rot like a piece of fruit if you touch me?" Claudia asks, horrified.

"No," Ned says. "It doesn't work like that."

"It's not supposed to work like _that_ , either," she points out.

He looks miserable. "I'll show you," he says. "But you have to promise not to tell anyone. Not Mallory or Jessi, or Stacey, or anyone."

"I promise," she says. Her heart thuds loudly in her chest.

Ned leads her into the cool room, and he shows her: how the fresh fruit gets delivered, but he lets it sit aside and wilt to take the place of another piece of fruit he brings back from rot. And then the next day he'll take yesterday's wilted fruit — bring it back like magic, and let the new fruit shrivel in its place.

Claudia daringly nibbles the corner off a strawberry he hands her, one she's just watched bloom to life with ripe juice and color right before her eyes. It's delicious.

"This is how you make the pies taste so good," she whispers.

"Yes."

"Does it only work on fruit?"

"No," Ned says, looking guilty. "It worked on Digby too."

Digby rolls over, exposing his belly to the morning sun pouring in through the open kitchen door.

"I can't touch him again," Ned explains. "I can only bring something back once. If I touch it a second time, it dies forever. That's why I wear gloves."

Claudia feels light-headed. "This iswhy you don't like touching anyone."

"It's just better if I don't," he says, folding his arms across his chest. "I can't afford to be casual about things like that."

"But what if you need a hug?" Claudia blurts. "Like this morning I walked in here and I really needed a hug —"

"You probably should have walked to Mallory's," Ned says reasonably. "I never hug anyone."

Claudia looks at the fruit on the table. "I just…"

"I'm sorry," he says. "I know it's weird."

"It is weird."

"Just try to forget it."

"Have I been eating rotten fruit this whole time?" she asks.

"No!" He gestures at the giant strawberry she's still holding, one corner nibbled off. "It's ripe. It just… somehow it tastes better if I let it kind of cycle through."

"This is a magic strawberry," Claudia says in amazement, staring at it. She claps her other hand down on the marble surface of the table. "Your pies _are_ magic!" she cries. "I've been telling everyone that from the start, but I didn't know how true it was!"

"Shhhss _hhhh!_ " Ned says, mortified. He glances to the door. "Nobody else knows, and nobody else can _ever_ know."

"I won't tell anyone, I swear," she says, crossing her heart and everything. "Although, I have to say, my sister would absolutely _love_ to do experiments on you."

 

* * *

 

"What does a guy have to do around here to get free pie?" Alan asks.

"I get one free slice of pie a day, and I ate it for breakfast this morning," Claudia says tiredly.

"Can I use up your slice of free pie for tomorrow?" Alan asks.

"No."

"Aw, come on! You used to work at the cinema too, you know how much I get paid! I'm barely making ends meet, I've got guys chasing me for my money, they're gonna break my kneecaps!" He reaches across the counter and grabs her arm.

"Keep it down," Claudia laughs. "Fine, fine. Free pie. Today _only_."

"You're one of the good ones," Alan says.

"How's it going over there, anyway?" Claudia asks.

"Gum scraping has lost it's charm now that you're gone," Alan admits. "Do you want me to break down the plot of Housesitter scene by scene for you? Because I can."

"I'll pass, thanks."

"I'd better get over there," Alan sighs. "Thanks for the pie." He flicks a ten dollar bill across the counter to Claudia.

"You're not claiming your freebie?" she asks, raising her eyebrows.

"You look blue," he says. "Maybe a little green will help. Keep the tip, you're my favorite waitress. Did you hear that, Pike?"

"Buzz off, Alan," Mallory says.

He grins and slides off his stool. "I'll sneak you into a movie any time," he tells Claudia. "Cheer up, chump."

It's quieter when he's gone — the lull between the mid-afternoon sugar seekers, and those that come after dinner for something sweet.

"You do look a little down," Mallory says. "Are you feeling okay?"

"Fine," Claudia assures her. She sneaks a glance back at Ned in the kitchen. She's not sure if he looks tense, or if she's just reading him that way now. _She_ feels tense. She's been worried all day — what if he touches something he shouldn't touch? What if someone finds out he's got literal magic coursing through his veins? What if he trips over Digby, and Digby just drops dead?

She can't tell anyone. She knows she can't. But keeping secrets is awful.

"Did something happen with Ned?" Mallory whispers.

"No," Claudia says. "Nothing will ever happen so just..." She shakes her her head.

Mallory tactfully changes the subject. "Did we decide what you're going to do when we go to Sea City?" she asks. "Jessi's pretty adamant she can't stay any later than nine o'clock each night. Do you think you and Ned will be okay closing up by yourselves?"

"We'll be fine."

"How will you get home?" Mallory asks.

Claudia usually grabs a ride home when Mr. Pike comes by for Mallory, but that won't work out when the Pikes are on vacation. "Janine will come and get me," she says.

"I'll take you home," Ned offers, appearing so suddenly Claudia jumps and takes a step back.

"I really should buy a car," she says, not meaning it as a rejection. Still, she can see Ned takes it as one — his blue eyes soften and he looks upset.

"I mean," she blurts, "I was saving to buy one when I was working at the cinema. I could probably afford one now."

"Kristy is selling the Junk Bucket," Mallory reminds her.

"Like I'd trust that thing after three Thomases have been behind the wheel," Claudia says.

"You probably shouldn't deny David Michael the chance to get stranded somewhere with a smoking engine, either," Mallory says.

"Yeah, I'm sure he's looking forward to it." Claudia stares after Ned as he goes back to the kitchen.

Mal nudges her with a little smile. "You should take advantage of being so alone with him," she says. "You never know what might happen."

"Yeah," Claudia says, her mouth dry. "You never know."

 

* * *

 

Ned is expertly fluting pastry with his fingers — pinch, poke, pinch, poke.

"Closing The Pie Hole on my birthday is guaranteed to ruin my entire day," Claudia insists.

"We'll close the day before, then," Ned suggests.

"No!"

"I just feel like you need a day off before we have two whole weeks without Mallory."

"She's not _that_ helpful around here," Jessi chimes in.

Mallory makes an offended noise.

"Once Mallory's gone, you can't ask for a day off," Ned warns.

"I've _never_ asked for a day off."

"I feel like you might be due."

"Why?" Claudia asks warily. "Do I look like I have the weight of the world on my shoulders?"

Ned gives her half a smile. " _Do_ you have the weight of the world on your shoulders?"

"I really just want to come into work and make pies," Claudia says. She's been braiding strings of pastry to circle around the edge of a pecan pie.

"At least finish early tomorrow night," Ned says. "Have dinner with your family."

"Anyone would think you want to get rid of me," Claudia says.

"No, not at all," Ned says. His voice is quiet. "I just thought it might be a chance for you to clear your head… before you lose the chance to think clearly at all for the next two weeks."

"You are _really_ overselling Mallory," Jessi tells him.

Claudia understands, though. Her mind _is_ reeling from the realization that Ned can bring things back from the dead. And she hasn't been sleeping well, and things _will_ be busy without Mallory around, even if Jessi is trying to joke about how they'll barely notice a difference.

"Okay," she says finally. "I'll take a day off."

 

* * *

 

Later, Ned takes her aside. "I don't want you to think I'm trying to avoid you," he says. "I just thought… sometimes things are easier after you've had time to think."

"Secrets suck," Claudia whispers. "How have you not gone completely crazy, keeping this all to yourself?"

He looks at her in surprise.

"I'm glad I know," she adds. "Will it make things easier for you now? Now that someone knows?"

"I'm not sure it changes anything much," he says.

"I have so many questions."

"I know."

"I don't want any gifts for my birthday, but I'd be okay with you sharing some answers. You know… answering any questions I might have… on my birthday… instead of giving me any actual presents."

"That's incredibly manipulative."

"I'm only a little bit sorry about it, too."

He smiles at her. "Enjoy your day off, Claud."

 

* * *

 

"I can't remember the last time we all sat down for a family dinner," Mom says, smiling across the table at Claudia. "You really should tell Ned you can't work _every_ evening, sweetheart. It isn't fair."

"He doesn't make me," Claudia challenges. "I _like_ working at The Pie Hole."

"Well, make sure to thank him for sending dessert over," Dad says, clearing throat a little. Claudia hears the plea in his voice, and she bites down any further arguments.

They eat in silence for several long minutes, the guilt weighing heavier and heavier upon Claudia's shoulders. She hasn't been home for dinner in weeks, and yet two minutes into meatloaf night, she's already half-started an argument.

 _They tell me to go out and get a job, and then they complain about how much I work,_ she thinks incredulously.

"Ned has displayed your artwork very elegantly, Claudia," Janine says, primly cutting her potatoes. "It looks spectacular."

"Thank you," Claudia says in surprise.

"I haven't seen it yet," Dad says.

"There's a piece above every booth," Janine tells him. "I find Ned's aesthetic tastes quite surprising, really. He's bold, and yet he favors the classics."

Claudia knows Janine is _really_ trying if she's willing to talk about art. "He likes color," she says. "I like that about him. He's shunning the trend of grunge and making a stand for what he likes."

"Oh, grunge," Mom mutters. "Yes, the sooner that trend is over, the better."

"Are you working tomorrow, Claudia?" Dad asks quietly.

"Yes — Mal is in Sea City for two weeks, so it's just me and Jessi."

"But it's your birthday," Mom says, sounding disappointed. "I thought we could spend the day together."

"Doing what?" Claudia asks in alarm.

"We could go to The Pie Hole," Janine suggests. "I know Claudia will be working, but we could celebrate with a slice of pie and give her our gifts."

"Lord, in public?" Claudia asks.

"I think that's a nice idea," Dad agrees. "So long as we won't disturb you too much, Claudia. We know how hard you're working there; we don't want to make things difficult for you."

"You won't," she says in amazement.

"I have to say," Dad adds, "I wasn't so sure about this pie venture at first, but it's certainly proved successful. Working for a successful private business — especially a start up — can be just as valuable as going to college, you know."

Claudia chokes on a green bean.

"I agree," Janine says, pushing her glasses up her nose. "I think the experience is proving valuable, Claudia — don't you? I'm sure if Ned had to take a two week vacation, you'd manage the establishment by yourself just fine."

"Well, I know how everything works," Claudia says, her throat feeling a little raw. She takes a careful sip of water. "But I'll never make pies as well as Ned can." She thinks about the fruit dying and living again, and how different it tastes afterwards, and how — no matter how hard she tries — she'll never be able to match that particular secret ingredient.

"It's not the product," her father insists. "It's how you sell it."

"No, Dad," Claudia says flatly, "in this case, it's definitely the product."

"I'm inclined to agree," Janine says. "Are we ready for dessert?"

 

* * *

 

The Pie Hole already smells like warm baking fruit and pastry when Claudia shows up for work on her birthday.

She calls a greeting through to the kitchen.

"Happy birthday," Ned says.

She smiles. "Thank you."

She starts setting down chairs and laying out napkins and cutlery. She's stacking cups and saucers by the coffee machine when she spots the chalkboard behind the counter, Ned's handwriting displaying the Pie of the Day:

_The Claudia: Your choice of pie served with two scoops of ice cream and a side of razzle-dazzle._

"I get a pie with razzle-dazzle?" she asks in delight. "What is it? What's the razzle-dazzle?" She bounces on her toes. "Ned! I want a slice of Pie of the Day!"

He's grinning to himself in the kitchen. "What pie would you like?"

"Chocolate satin with a scoop of chocolate and a scoop of vanilla," she says immediately. She sits herself at the counter and waits.

Ned sets a plate of pie in front of her and leans over to light the sparkler stuck upright in the soft vanilla ice cream. "Happy birthday," he says again, giving her a warm smile.

It's a small gesture but it's kind and sincere and so very understanding of _her,_ and she finds herself overwhelmed all of a sudden. "Thank you," she says tearfully.

Ned's face falls. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she says, wiping her eyes furiously. "Sorry. This is perfect. I love it, I really do. It's really — it's perfect, Ned."

"It's just an extra scoop of ice cream and a sparkler," he says. "Did you get a spark in your eye?" He looks horrified. "See, this is why razzle-dazzle is always a bad idea, I should never —"

"No!" she laughs. She wipes her eyes again. "Shut up. And I know you hate touching people but I really think I need a hug."

"Okay," he sighs, somewhat reluctantly. But when he hugs her it's wonderful — he wraps his arms around her and squeezes her tightly to him, rocking her back and forth gently.

"This is better than pie," she says.

"Yeah," he agrees, and he squeezes her again. "Thank you for not freaking out."

"I freaked out a bit last night, but only to Mimi."

"Did she have any advice?"

"I still think she'd like you. That convinced me to calm down."

"She sounds nice." 

Claudia gives half a laugh, half a sob against his chest. "Yeah. She was the only one who really understood me. Except you, I guess."

"You're not hard to understand, Claud," Ned assures her gently. "I just know what it's like to not fit in."

She hugs him a little tighter and closes her eyes. "You know, it makes everything a little better knowing there's real magic in the world." 

"Hm," he says, apparently unconvinced. "You said you had questions for me."

"I don't care about the questions anymore," she says, craning her head back to look up at him with a smile. "The hug was better. I'm counting it as my gift."

"The razzle-dazzle was your gift." He still has his arms around her.

"Okay," she agrees. "Razzle-dazzle on my birthday. Special occasion. So I'd like hugs a little more frequently than that, please."

"I'll see what I can do," Ned says. "Just promise me you'll stay alive so hugging you doesn't get complicated."

"I'll do my best," she says. "But you know what we're both like with success."

"We suck at it," Ned says solemnly.

She beams up at him. "Yeah. Absolutely. I mean, it's not like everything you touch turns to gold."

"I'm pathetic," he agrees.

She laughs and lets him go. "I want to finish my pie before people start queueing at the door. Oh, and my parents will be coming by today, so make me sound good."

"Now _that_ is easy," he says smoothly.

* * *

 


End file.
